R-13
by Lithyka
Summary: Drift is feeling sick, and Ratchet's there to help.


Disclaimer: I don't own the Transformers, except a few Kinder Surprise models and a Kreo Drift. Which brings me to my point of writing this fanfic. It's really bothering me that Drift never seems to get enough torture fics or sickfics, so I decided to make one. It's kind of a combination of both.

PS: If anyone finds a fanfic where Drift dies, can you please tell me? I'm itching for one of those!

* * *

"R-Ratchet?" moaned Drift, staggering into the medbay. "I'm really not feeling well today, and-"

Ratchet just managed to turn around in time to catch the white mech as he collapsed.

"You okay?" he asked, helping Drift onto a nearby berth.

Drift shook his helm, slumping against Ratchet's frame, trembling.

"It's so… so cold…"

Ratchet held him close, worry bounding into his mind like a kangaroo.

"Drift? Drift, what happened?"

"R-Ratchet…I-I d-don't know…"

The medic lay his patient down on the berth.

"Where does it hurt?" he asked, as he grabbed a scanner.

Drift only coughed in response, his frame shaking with every intake.

Ratchet rubbed his chest gently, coaxing him to relax. Once he had done so, he ran a full body scan over Drift, and frowned at the results.

"How long have you been feeling sick?" he asked, slightly irritated.

Drift coughed again, drawing a shuddering intake.

"Two weeks," he whispered, offlining his optics in pain.

Ratchet sighed and sifted through some drawers until he found a syringe.

"Give me your arm," he instructed. "I'm going to sedate you."

Drift's optics snapped online like Blurr after sitting down on a pin.

"No!"

"Relax," soothed Ratchet. "It's going to be okay, you won't feel anything."

But the other mech cried out in fear, his wide, frightened optics focused on the point of the needle.

"No, please, Ratchet! Don't!"

"I'm sorry," apologised the medic. "I have to."

He twisted the tip of the syringe and drew in some sedatives.

"You can do this, Drift," he added, reaching for the other mech's arm.

Drift was crying now, tears running down his cheek plates as he desperately tried to avoid the point of the needle.

"Please don't! I-I can't! No, don't- RATCHET!"

Drift's terrified blue optics offlined as Ratchet administered the sedative, and forced him into recharge.

* * *

Drift onlined his optics to the sight of Ratchet's familiar face.

"Nnnmm," he murmured, somewhat awkwardly surprised.

"Feeling better?" asked the medic, smiling slightly.

The white mech drowsily stared up at him.

"I think so," he replied, attempting to sit up.

Ratchet helped him do so and offered him a small cube of med-grade energon.

Drift took a sip, swallowing distastefully.

"I hate this stuff," he muttered.

"Drink up. It'll help you prepare for what's in stock for you."

Drift froze, his gaze lifting to look Ratchet straight in the optics.

"What's going to happen?" he asked, unsure if he really wanted to know the answer.

Ratchet sighed, averting his gaze. . "Well… there are two options."

Drift gulped.

"I guess I should fill you in on your condition. You happen to have caught a non-contagious virus called R-13, which can be deadly fatal if left untreated. Symptoms include dizziness, pain, feeling sick and purging. I take it you have been purging?"

Drift nodded weakly. "It was horrible."

Ratchet patted his shoulder sympathetically and continued with his information report.

"Anyways, it's not too late for you. As the virus takes two to three weeks to kill, I can still administer the cure."

"What's that?" asked Drift, shuddering a little.

"Simple. It's something I have right here in this very medbay. Unfortunately, nobody has given it a name yet, but I guarantee that you've seen it before."

"Then why do I have to be prepared?"

Ratchet rebooted his optics. This was the part he hated, telling his patient he'd have to endure a painful process in order to survive.

"Your tank has to be completely drained for this," he told Drift, his tone soft and cautious. "Like I said, you've got two choices. One, I'll half sedate you and manually drain your tank with medical apparatus. Two, I trigger your gag reflex until you purge everything up."

Drift whimpered, slumping down on himself.

"Do I have to?" he asked, despite already knowing the answer.

"If you don't want to die, yes," replied Ratchet, gently rubbing Drift's back.

The white mech crumpled, sobbing into Ratchet's shoulder, wailing about how he didn't want to go through the pain.

"I understand," the medic replied softly. "But I'm afraid we'll have to do this, one way or another."

Ratchet let Drift cry for a few minutes, before tenderly lifting his chin with two digits.

"You've got to be brave, Drift," he encouraged. "You can do this. You've been through worse, you know that."

Tears flowed out of Drift's optics as he finally nodded, and Ratchet allowed him to snuggle up to him again.

"So," the medic finally said after five minutes. "Which option would you prefer?"

"Which one hurts less?" whimpered Drift, not letting go of his frame.

Ratchet sighed. "I honestly don't know, Drift. Hate to tell you this, but I've only performed this operation once in my life, and the mech I worked on never told me how I did."

"Why?" asked Drift, genuine fear in his teary, cerulean optics.

Ratchet turned away, gazing out the window.

"He never lived to tell me."

* * *

In the end, after some logical reasoning, discussion and a lot of tears, Drift had chosen Option Two.

"Are you sure?" asked Ratchet.

"No. But… I'll do it," confirmed Drift.

"Well… here goes. Try not to hold back. The more you fight, the harder this will be."

Ratchet handed Drift a bucket and stuck two digits down his throat, wincing at the feel of soft energon tubes and digestive fluid.

"That's it," he managed to encourage, despite feeling like gagging himself from the nausea poking around in someone else's throat tended to give you.

Drift looked up and met his gaze, looking as frightened as ever.

Ratchet smiled reassuringly and pressed down on a particular spot, before quickly retracting his servo as the younger mech retched, but failed to bring up any energon.

"That hurt," whimpered Drift, looking sick.

"I know," Ratchet replied. "Ready to try that again?"

Drift nodded, opening his mouth and preparing himself the best he could.

Ratchet inserted his digits into Drift's mouth again, touched that spot again, a little harder this time, and managed to get his servo covered in energon as Drift purged his tanks into the bucket.

"You did well," Ratchet said, pressing down on Drift's stomach plates and causing the younger mech to purge more.

Drift gasped, trying to catch his breath.

"Not again," he finally panted. "Please, no more!"

"We can't stop now, Drift," informed Ratchet, the strain in his voice clearly showing how much sympathy he felt towards his patient. "If we continue, we'll have you all cured and ready for action in no time."

"I feel like I'll never be ready for action."

Ratchet smiled humourlessly. "Come on, you've got to trust me. Let's continue."

The medic triggered Drift's gag reflex again, forcing him to purge into the bucket a few times.

"Can we… stop now?" groaned Drift, looking like he was about to cry.

Ratchet held the pleading gaze, shaking his helm sadly. He had never seen Drift look so sick and helpless before. And the fact that he had caused the swordsmech this pain, even though it was for his own good, was enough to send a tear trickling down his cheek plate.

But they had to continue. They had to be strong, and continue. He couldn't let go of Drift now.

"We are going to continue."

Ratchet stuck his digits down Drift's throat again, repeatedly making his patient purge his tanks with a horrible, splashing sound that would make anyone feel sorry for the victim. Then he would press down on Drift's abdominal plates and force him to purge more, until his tank was near empty.

"Ratchet!" sobbed Drift, reduced to tears once more as he attempted to catch his breath after another bout of induced purging. "Please… stop! I can't take this!"

"Yes you can," denied Ratchet, his tone grave and sorrowful. "We're almost finished, just a bit more to go."

"No… don't! Stop this! Please! PLEASE!"

Ratchet winced in pity and rebooted his clouding optics, sticking his digits down the younger mech's throat again.

Drift let go of the mostly full bucket, causing it to tip over and spill across the medberth with a loud crash.

"Please… just stop," he begged, weakly leaning back against the wall. "No more. I can't… I don't think…"

"You'll be fine," soothed Ratchet, wiping energon off Drift's parted lips. "One last time."

Drift screamed as the medic triggered his gag reflex again, and purged his tank into his lap until there was absolutely nothing left and he was reduced to coughing and retching, unable to control himself.

"You did it, Drift," said Ratchet slowly.

"It… hurt! I don't ever want to do that again…"

Drift leapt into Ratchet's lap and nuzzled up to his neck, seeking the warmth and comfort of the other mech.

"Is it… all over?" he asked, wrapping his arms around Ratchet's waist like he would never let go.

Ratchet stroked his helm gently.

"Almost, Drift. Almost."

The white mech's optics fell.

"What else?" he whimpered. "I don't want to… no… RATCHET!"

Drift screamed as his body spasmed, forcing him to let go and lie back on the energon-stained berth.

"Frag!" cursed Ratchet, grabbing his tools and frantically preparing the cure. "The virus is striking!"

* * *

**Ending One**

"What… I…"

Drift sighed quietly as his optics offlined, and he slipped into permanent oblivion.

Ratchet stared down at the young mech, in horror and shock. His death had been so sudden, so unexpected…

So similar to his other patient, all those centuries ago…

And the last thing he'd done, as a medic, was to put the poor thing through lifetimes worth of pain and torture.

Ratchet sank to his knees on the energon-stained berth, and cradled Drift's cold, lifeless frame in his arms, crying for the young life that had just been lost, the spark that had just extinguished, and the twin beautiful, cerulean optics that would never see again.

"Drift," he whispered, addressing the mech he knew would never hear him. "I'm… sorry."

* * *

**Ending Two**

"Oh…" stuttered Drift, before temporarily offlining while Ratchet continued his string of curses.

"Here goes," the medic murmured, before force-feeding the cube of special, golden coloured energon to Drift.

The white mech didn't move.

"Please, Drift," begged Ratchet, realising that just a minute ago, they had been in reversed roles. "Don't go. Please. I'll never hurt you again."

Drift's frame still remained stationary, as if he was attempting to get his revenge.

"Please, Drift!"

Ratchet gasped as the Samurai's chest plates moved apart, revealing the concealed blue spark inside, which began rising into the air.

"No!"

Ratchet reached out desperately to the pulsing orb of blue light, coaxing it to stay, to bring life to Drift's rapidly cooling shell once more.

"Please, Drift. Stay…"

The spark hovered in the air for a second, before making up its mind and zooming down back into Drift's chest like an arrow into a target, the plating sliding shut behind it.

Ratchet breathed a sigh of relief.

"N-now is it over?" asked Drift, looking up with dazed optics.

Ratchet smiled, and this time, he was truly happy.

"Yes, Drift. Now it's all over."

Drift returned the smile and leapt up into Ratchet's arms again, embracing him as if there was no tomorrow.

"I guess there's something I have to say."

The medic met his gaze.

"Go on."

"Ratchet… Thank you."


End file.
